


Flowers

by Hostilitas



Series: Character Studies/Warmups [1]
Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:47:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24704020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hostilitas/pseuds/Hostilitas
Summary: A small character study of Shadow Weaver's inner thought process during her time as a Bright Moon prisoner, set to Alabama Shakes - Sound & Color. Introspection, metaphors, personal silence.
Relationships: Shadow Weaver & Her Own Bullshit
Series: Character Studies/Warmups [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1785970
Kudos: 13





	Flowers

_A NEW WORLD HANGS  
OUTSIDE THE WINDOW_

Clipping her plants didn’t make her happy. It’s hard. Thankless. 

The garden itself seems to not like her, sometimes. 

It’s a beautiful arrangement. Occasionally, when she’s either not working on it or hidden out of vision, passersby comment on how lush and alive it looks.

Then, the guards inform them why they aren’t allowed to enter. They leave to talk about other flowers. They don’t come back.

_BEAUTIFUL AND STRANGE_

Thistles. Rosemaries. Wolfsbane. Daisies.

The royal court hasn’t allowed her to have nightshades or hemlock. The permission for poppies is probably hanging by a thread. 

The mint grows nicely this time of year, though, verdant and bright. She sprays the orange calendulas carefully, taking care not to bruise the petals – her hands end up brushing past them a lot, since they’re on the way of many smaller plants.

The nettles sting her when she’s careless. They’re not mean about it, at least. Just a warning. The only plants polite enough, or dumb enough, to bother avoiding skipping straight ahead to pain.

_IT MUST BE I’VE  
FALLEN AWAY  
I MUST BE_

The palace had very few firethorns before she arrived. The gardeners preferred to adorn the walls with something less thorny. 

The greenhouse now has a bush of them right outside. They haven’t come around yet. Not to her hands, at least. She’s the only one who cares about them, but they still scratch her hands, since she insists on not using gloves. 

Sometimes she rests inside the greenhouse, observing the tiny trickles of red and small white spots around her fingers and wrists. Never enough to really pierce or draw more than one or two drops of blood, but enough to keep the thorns and prickles in mind.

Sometimes, it’s enough to stain the bright-white petals of her daisies. 

_SOUND AND COLOR  
WITH ME, FOR MY MIND  
AND IT SHOULD SHOW YOU  
WHERE TO GO WHEN I NEED TO SPEAK_

Bees come around every day. They follow the same orders as the guards, staying in silence.

They buzz a lot. Other than the slow rustling of leaves and the irregular slicing of scissors, it’s the only thing keeping the garden from absolute quiet. Birds sing, outside, very far away even when they’re close by. 

The bees make sure to only touch the plants. It takes them a while, mostly: they’re bumblebees, and there are always a lot of flowers to choose from, all very vibrant and full of pollen. They fly close, but never land on her robes, on her hands. Or on her daisies.

Lately, the guards have been leaving her alone for a little bit more time every once in a while, other than just during the shift changes. It’s noticeable, even if she’s not entirely sure why. 

_SOUND AND COLOR  
WITH ME, IN MY MIND_

Of course, she has theories about it. Even a theory for no-theories: ever since the Portal incident, the kingdom has been a little disoriented. Priorities were now shifted all around. Or this is a test. They want to be sure that she’s not going to do anything stupid just because they’re not looking. After all, she should expect at this point that people aren’t going to act smart just because she personally doesn’t think they’re capable. It’s the entire reason for her being here now.

It’s a silly thought, in a certain way.

There is no inner desire to fight anymore. To scheme. She’s yesterday’s news, and even if they stop considering her a prisoner, they are never going to consider her a friend. 

Thankfully, that doesn’t stop her from keeping the yarrows, mustards, foxgloves and daylilies pruned, alive and happy. A good sorcerer is never out of resources, and she will die before considering herself anything else.

_SOUND AND COLOR  
TRY TO KEEP YOURSELF AWAKE_

She will still remember how the gardens of Mystacor flourished under her care. Even if no one else considers her when they mention sorcerers anymore. “If”? No, “when” is more fitting.

_SOUND AND COLOR  
THIS LIFE AIN’T LIKE IT WAS_

There are days where she doesn’t even look at the door anymore to see if the guards are around… that is, if anyone even dares to walk close to the garden while she’s working. She just toils away, watering, fertilizing, getting rid of pests, planting and replanting.

People stop gossiping when she comes back in, during her short daily journeys in and out of her late prison, and start talking again as soon as she’s almost out of earshot. The same way the guards stiffen and relax according to her presence. 

_SOUND AND COLOR  
I WANNA TOUCH A HUMAN BEING_

Bad and good aren’t real descriptors she thinks about anymore over her own situation. There is no “worse” or “better”, really. It’s all just very, very tiresome. Only the plants help her rest.

_SOUND AND COLOR  
I WANT TO GO BACK TO SLEEP_

There’s enough peacetime for her carrots to grow. There comes a time where the parsley, spring onions, potatoes, key limes, and even the apple trees on the communal garden are all ripe. More than that – in fact, they are delicious. Succulent and crisp.

She considers offering them to the kitchen staff. Or at least asking the new queen for some permission to cook, but she knows they’re going to deny it. There are more people involved, and they don’t want to be looking over their shoulders to check if any unexpected plants end up in somebody else’s soup.

No one is going to accept them, even as gifts. She’s not going to bother trying. It’s all better placed in her garden, anyway, even if they remain buried under the earth or serve only to fall off and rot in order for other things to grow. 

The basil doesn’t mind. It will keep smelling good even if no one picks it, and the rare purple leaves look nice along with the chrysanthemums.

_SOUND AND COLOR  
AIN’T LIFE JUST AWFUL STRANGE?_

__

SOUND AND COLOR  
I WISH I NEVER GAVE IT ALL AWAY

__

_SOUND AND COLOR  
NO MORE TO SEE THE SETTING OF THE SUN_

The Moonstone also doesn’t mind. Her lack of interest isn’t eternal. She knows herself. In the near distance, magic beckons.

A girl teleports, experimenting with newfound power, now holding a big slice of the world on her fingertips. The same power that grows in the garden’s blood-red roses. The same greatness that was once under her care. 

_SOUND AND COLOR_

The air shimmers with every zip. Every jump. Every twisting of the staff and careless leap of faith. The plants seem to almost feel the energy pulse, in and around them. A keen, trained eye like hers can even see the sap glow inside the leaves and stems. 

Magic waiting to be released. Spells waiting to be cast.

_LIFE IN  
SOUND AND COLOR_

The cycle repeats. It always does. The only way that it wouldn’t was if she didn’t know her own heart, and how it still ached for a do-over of the past. Maybe with the correct words, this time, they would stay. They would respect that she only ever wanted for people to reach as high as their lives were supposed to.

_LOVE IN  
SOUND AND COLOR_

Caring for her daisies doesn’t make her happy. At least she doesn’t think so. It makes her distracted, for sure, considering she only does it under complete solitude. Alone enough with herself to leave the mask aside, if only for a few moments of a very long life, to capture a few moments of the sun for herself. 

_LOVE IN  
SOUND AND COLOR_

The scissors are put down for a second. Enough for her to free her hands, feeling the weight of something else between them. Reminiscing over the old, now almost invisible cracks. Running one of her thumbs over a smudge. She’s always been fond of this color, and it really looks beautiful under this light.

Although she’s possibly the only person on the planet to have anything other than negative thoughts about this mask. Some of which are even her own.

_SOUND AND COLOR_

Shadow Weaver dons her mask again, heading outside to have a word with Queen Glimmer.

Words she’ll probably regret. The only ones she can ever say.

_SOUND AND COLOR_


End file.
